Future Imperfect
by Marcus S. Lazarus
Summary: As the Rebellion begins, Katniss is contacted by a mysterious old man who tells her of an age when heroes walked Earth, and requests her aid in reassembling the heroes of the past to face a nightmare that only he acknowledges the existence of...


Disclaimer: _Avengers _and _Hunger Games_ belong to their relevant owners; I merely borrow them to write this story

Feedback: Always a pleasure to receive.

AN: This story starts shortly after _Catching Fire_ ended, and will expand into a new course of events from then on. For future reference, in this reality President Snow has no children for reasons that will be obvious later, but otherwise both series are the same as they were in canon; you'll learn more about how things come together as the plot unfolds

AN 2: Narrative wise, I will primarily stick to the original _Hunger Games _pattern and focus on Katniss's POV, but some later chapters will be told in the third person when focusing on the Avengers' roles in particular; hope you like it

Future Imperfect

I had been lying in my room for a week before he came to me with the story that would change my life.

It had been a difficult time for me since I heard the news about the destruction of District Twelve, on top of Peeta being captured by the Capitol, and then all these people wanting me to be something for them…

I just couldn't _cope _with this; so much had happened because of my failures to go along with what Snow wanted.

Gale may have managed to evacuate a fair portion of the District, but the fact remained that they'd only suffered so much damage because I lived there; even if Prim and my mother were safe, so many other people were dead, and as for Peeta…

Everyone wanted me to be their Mockingjay, and I didn't know how to do it; I was never comfortable speaking to people one-to-one, and now I was expected to appeal to a whole _nation_…

God, this was a nightmare; everyone had expectations of me, and I barely even knew who to trust…

"Hello, Miss Everdeen," a voice said.

Looking up, I was surprised to see an unfamiliar old man standing in the door of my Compartment 307, looking at me with a solemn smile. His face was surprisingly smooth despite the weariness in his eyes making his age obvious, along with his pure white hair, but he gave the impression of being in at least the same shape as Mags, with the advantage that his gaze and speech were clear as opposed to her inability to communicate. I re-evaluated my thoughts on his physical health when I saw that his right arm and left leg were artificial, the ankle a deep red under his simple blue trousers and shirt while the right hand was a gold-and-red mix; he was in good shape, but he'd clearly suffered to get to this point.

"Not what you were expecting, mmm?" the man said, smiling at me as he raised his metallic right hand.

"Oh… I'm sor-" I began, uncomfortable at being caught out in my observation of his weakness.

"Don't worry; I'm used to it," the man said, still smiling reassuringly at me. "I'm responsible for co-ordinating most of District Thirteen's security arrangements, but I also have a more personal role as a historian, and I come to talk to you in that capacity; may I sit down?"

"Uh… of course," I said, indicating the seat beside my bed, puzzled at the man's overly formal nature, as though he was taking care when selecting each word, as well as the reason for his presence; after hearing how District Thirteen had survived through a secret 'deal' with the Capitol, what could be left for this man to tell me about its history?

"Well," the old man said, looking solemnly at me as he sat down, "as you're aware, before Panem, there was a time when the world was so much larger and more incredible than anything you can imagine… not at peace, but with everyone enjoying greater freedoms than what this world has to offer now, capable of going further and faster than anything available to you now… but what you probably aren't aware of is that, while it had problems as with any civilisation, these problems were significantly greater than anything we might experience today."

"I knew that-" I began; history might not have been my favourite subject at school, but I knew about the nuclear wars that had decimated the world…

"Did you?" the old man asked, turning around to look intently at me. "Did you know that, almost a century before the war that shattered the world, a madman discovered a source of power that allowed him to create and unleash weapons decades ahead of their time on the rest of the world? Did you know that a man dedicated to creating weapons abandoned his work after he created the most dangerous weapon ever built and saw the consequences of its use? Did you know that a man who sought only to help others and hated violence became the most physically powerful being on our planet through a freak accident that would have killed virtually anyone else? Did you know that a race of beings from another world once came to Earth and were so powerful we once worshipped them as gods?"

As the old man spoke, I wondered if my initial assessment of his mental state had been incorrect- everything he said just sounded more and more impossible than the last statement- but I somehow couldn't believe that he was as crazy as his story sounded.

Everything he spoke of sounded impossible- only a few details of what we'd been capable of before Panem remained; most likely the Capitol didn't want to encourage dissent by reminding us what we didn't have any more-, but the sincere clarity of his statements made it impossible to doubt the old man before me.

"No," I said at last. "I didn't."

"I didn't think you would have," the old man said with a slight smile. "Even when they were active, so few people knew everything about them…"

"Them?" I repeated.

"Come with me," the man said as he stood up, looking at me with an encouraging smile. "If you're going to appreciate this, you have to see it."

Grateful that I had dressed earlier- I'd just been lying on my bed because I didn't really know what else to do with myself any more- I stood up and walked after the man, ignoring the slight stares I was receiving from some of the other District Thirteen residents; for once, I had a feeling that it was the man with me who was attracting the stares, rather than me myself.

Whether through experience or lack of interest, the other man didn't seem to respond to the stares he was receiving. Instead, he simply smiled at a few of the people around him as he kept on walking, eventually reaching a particularly sturdy-looking door with a keypad and speaker beside it.

"Open Sesame," the man said, leaning over to speak into the speaker and tap in a number on the keypad. As the door opened, the man smiled and walked into the room, looking back at me to indicate that I could follow.

As we walked into the room, I could only stare at its contents in awe. Arrayed against one wall were seven man-sized objects; the first one seemed to be an assorted mix of grey metal, as though someone had put it together at relatively short notice out of whatever they could find, but the second one looked far more complete, and subsequent models demonstrated an impressive colour scheme combining red and gold in a very eye-catching manner. Incongruously, the objects on the next wall were a pair of strange gloves and a bow and arrow; the bow seemed more elaborate than any I had seen before, but otherwise it didn't seem to compare to the armours beside it. The same wall display included a large round shield, with a red and white circular pattern progressing towards a central blue circle with a large white star, while a small pillar between the two walls was topped by a glass case that held a short-handled metal hammer with a leather strap on the end.

"What are these?" I asked, looking at the weapons in amazement.

Even if the gloves in particular seemed like nothing special, something about the way these objects were displayed gave the impression that they were not only important beyond their obvious function as weapons, but that they… belonged together…

"Relics of that long-ago world of danger," the old man said, grinning as he looked around the room. "As the world became more dangerous, one man had an idea…"

He paused for a moment, reaching up to wistfully stroke the shield with his flesh hand, before he continued speaking, his tone becoming more passionate as he reflected on these memories. "That idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, each one possessing skills, abilities, and courage far above the norm, so that when the world needed them to face the greater threats being created now, these men and women could fight the battles that no other could."

"Oh," I said, lost for what else to say. "Who… who were they?"

"Earth's mightiest heroes," the old man said, a wistful smile on his face as he looked at the weapons around him. "A billionaire industrialist who controlled the greatest weapon of all to stop others using them, a scientist with the raw power of a monster and the heart of a hero, two master assassins who never lost sight of what mattered, the world's first and only super-soldier, and a literal god… five men and one woman, deprived of a peer anywhere else on Earth, found something in each other that led them to prevail against the greatest threat Earth had ever seen…"

For a moment, I couldn't help but smile at the story- even without specific details, there was something about the way this man told it that really made me _feel _what he was talking about- but then I took in his solemn expression and realised that, however this story ended, it wasn't a happy one.

"What happened to them?" I asked.

"They fell when parting ways after their first mission," the man said with a sigh, his smile vanishing as he moved on to a more painful topic. "The billionaire was outmanoeuvred by an insane weapons developer with more ambition than sense, the assassins exhausted their luck on some dangerous assignments, the god lost his will after his lover died, and the scientist and the soldier… let's just say they weren't the same after the others fell."

"Oh," I said, suddenly feeling strangely depressed at the news of what had happened to a group of people I would have never met even if they'd survived, before I looked uncertainly at the room around me; I thought I could guess what these things were, but I'd already learned some harsh lessons about thinking that I was sure of anything. "How did you… well… get all this?"

"Luck, research, and political blackmail," the old man said with a smile. "President Coin knew that I had no interest in taking on a position of leadership- I'm fully aware of my capabilities as a leader and coordinator of men in the field of battle, but I wouldn't do a good job if I had to deal with politics- but my reputation initially made her predecessors uncertain where I would stand. In the end, we signed an agreement; I would provide District Thirteen with my tactical expertise while publically proclaiming my firm loyalty to the position of President, and in return, I would be allowed to maintain this collection."

"It's that important to you?" I asked, looking at the objects in surprise; I might have trouble understanding the political aspects of the situation in Panem, but I knew enough to appreciate the scale of what he was willing to potentially give up just for what he held now. "What were these objects?"

"The weapons of the Avengers," the old man said, his hand moving from one object to the next as he spoke. "The armour of Iron Man, the most powerful weapon ever devised… the shock gauntlets of Black Widow, one of the greatest secret agents of her time… the bow and arrows of Hawkeye, the greatest archer with the sharpest aim I've ever encountered… the shield of Captain America, the world's first super-soldier, the shield capable of absorbing any impact thrown against it with no harm to the wielder… and the hammer of Thor, the god of thunder, which gives he who holds it the power of the heavens, but only capable of being wielded by one who is worthy."

"Hold on… that's only five people," I said, my inquiring gaze shifting to the man as I took a moment to recall his story. "What happened to the sixth… Avenger?"

"He never used weapons," the old man said with a smile. "He was powerful enough to do significant damage on his own."

He sighed as the smile faded. "And then everything changed, of course…"

"What changed?" I asked.

"That's part of the reason I'm talking to you about this," the old man said, smiling at me once more. "President Coin has a plan, and the revolution is a commendable concept, but there are factors that she doesn't know about because she just wouldn't believe them; in a straight military conflict, the Districts and the Capitol could keep each other on a stalemate for a while, but if they bring in certain secrets…"

He shook his head grimly. "Well, it wouldn't be pretty; let's leave it at that."

"And… you think that telling me about the Avengers will… make me more agreeable to be the Mockingjay or something?" I asked, my initial suspicions suddenly returning. "I can't do that; every time I try to do something, it just goes wrong and people die-"

"Because all you've been doing is trying to take action on impulse; you haven't been making plans," the old man said, looking solemnly at me. "The hard thing about being a symbol is realising that you can't just _inspire_; you need to do something to show that you're worthy of that respect, and be willing to take action yourself."

"What do you know-?" I began.

"I know how you feel about what's happened to you," the man said, looking solemnly at me. "I was a symbol for another conflict, long ago, and even when I was doing everything right, my best friend died because I was too slow to save him; it was hard to cope at first, but I was reminded that he made his choice, and we have to make our choice whether or not we prove ourselves worthy of their faith. People have died because of what you inspired, but you can't hold yourself responsible for that; the only thing responsible are the conditions that forced them to decide that it was better to die on their feet than live on their knees. The only thing _you_ have to decide is whether you want to wallow in your grief and prove them wrong for believing in what you inspired, or stand up for what they died believing in and prove that their sacrifice was worth something."

The old man simply stood and watched me in silence after that statement, leaving me to think on what I had just been told.

I'd never thought about it that way; I'd been so busy thinking about my own grief at what had happened because of me, that I'd never considered things from the other person's point of view.

They'd made their decision to take a stand, and, despite what Snow had said about me being the reason, they would have probably done the same thing even without me; all I did was give them a reason to do it now, rather than later. Anyone who had died on my Tour had made a choice to act because of me, but the reason they'd acted was there already; shouldn't I recognise what had prompted them to make that decision?

"Besides," the man added, still smiling at me, "you're wrong about one thing."

"What's that?" I asked.

"I don't want you to be just my Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen," the man said. "It's a good name, to be sure, but the Mockingjay was a fluke of nature that came to existence when nobody believed it could survive; it creates the idea that you were lucky and nothing else.

"So… what _do _you want me to be?" I asked.

"Simple," the man replied. "I want you to be an Avenger."

I didn't know what it was about that statement, but even though I'd never even heard of the Avengers before a few moments ago, I was suddenly struck by the power of that idea.

Even if he wasn't being honest about what the Avengers had been, the idea that he thought I could be part of a team that had included a _god _among its members…

"But I'm not-" I began, reality catching up to me.

"Not qualified?" the man said, smiling thoughtfully at me. "You're not perfect, I know, but you've got some skill above the general population, you've proven that you're willing to put the lives of others above your own when the situation calls for you to make a choice, and, when faced with impossible odds, you stood up and did what you could to protect another; trust me, you're an Avenger."

The solemn nature of that statement was almost more powerful than his original proclamation that I could be an Avenger; I'd never even thought about some of those things, or about what I could do or stand for beyond my suggestion that Peeta and I would eat the berries to deprive the Capitol of their Victors, and now I was facing a man who saw me as some… saviour?

It was a lot to think about, but as I looked at the man before me, I was struck by a feeling that none of the past requests made for me to act as the Mockingjay had ever managed to inspire in me.

The other residents of District Thirteen had always been talking about how me being the Mockingjay would help the District; this man…

He was making me think about how what I was as the Mockingjay could help everyone else.

"But… why me?" I asked uncertainly. "I'm not the only Tribute-"

"If you're thinking of Finnick Odair, don't," the man said, shaking his head. "Finnick is a good man, but that's all he is; he has strength, skill, and charisma, and he and Johanna Mason certainly have some talents that could be useful if things come down to a fight, but if I'm looking for candidates for the Avengers, you have something that we _need _if we're going to pull this off."

"Which is?" I asked.

"You act to help others when you don't have to," the man said simply. "Finnick does what he does to keep others safe from an immediate threat, and he knows that he'll still be alive in the end whatever else happens… but you step up when you don't _have _to."

I briefly wondered what he meant by that statement about how Finnick 'does what he does', but I quickly decided not to ask about it; I had a feeling I wouldn't get an answer anyway.

"But… wait…" I said, looking uncertainly at him as I thought about everything he'd just told me. "I thought you said that the Avengers failed because they were attacked on their own? How can-?"

"Exactly," the old man said, nodding in approval at me. "You can't stand alone if you're an Avenger… which is why I'm going to need your help with something else."

Reaching over, he tapped a series of buttons on a small control panel on one wall, prompting the door to open up and reveal what seemed to be a large metal object, consisting of a six-sided shape with each side composed of what looked like square metal rods, connected up to all kinds of cables and equipment, and a strange blue light glowing in the centre of the portal from no obvious source that I could see.

"What is it?" I asked, looking at the circle in confusion.

"The other reason I brought you here," the man said, a warm smile on his face as he looked at the object. "I've never dared to show this to anyone before, but I'm breaking that rule here because I know you can use it properly."

"Uh… use it to do what?" I asked.

"Bring the Avengers back," the old man replied firmly, as his expression became grim. "And with the Capitol's secret weapon, I can assure you that we're going to need them…"

* * *

AN 3: So, what did everyone think?

Bonus points to anyone who recognises where that object at the end came from (The identity of the old man should be fairly obvious)…


End file.
